


Firehouse Flambé

by OK7



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OK7/pseuds/OK7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chet Kelly gets a new cookbook. Let the suffering begin! Hungry, and likely suffering from an overdose of cherries, the guys are a little cranky. Why does every rescue have to involve some strange variety of food when you're starving?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ah Nuts!

Johnny made a beeline for the two stale doughnuts on the counter. After sniffing each one, he announced, “Someone needs to talk to Marco about his doughnut selection.” Roy shrugged and continued reading, hoping that this was the end of the conversation. It wasn’t.

“Why would anyone put peanuts on top of a doughnut?”

Roy looked up from his book, paused for a moment, and replied matter of factly, “You polished off a whole bag of peanuts yesterday.” 

“That’s different, Roy. You know I don’t like nuts in things. I like nuts. I like doughnuts. I do not like nuts in or on doughnuts. What was Marco thinking?”

Roy rolled his eyes, and set his book down. He really didn’t want to get pulled into a heated conversation about nuts, and was just hoping for a few quiet minutes to recharge before the next call. Johnny was more vocal about this needs, however, and Roy knew that his partner would be persistent until he gave him his full attention.

He turned toward Johnny, but before he could respond, Johnny darted over to the fridge with a peanut covered doughnut in hand. He needed a glass of milk to help choke down what he assumed were very rubbery peanuts, considering they been submerged in gooey chocolate glaze all day.

When he opened the door and saw that the fridge was filled with soda bottles, he clenched his fist and grumbled, “Chet!” 

“Will you take a look at this?” His voice had gone up an octave already, and was getting louder with each word. “There’s no milk in here! There’s nothin’ but Cherry Coke!”

Yes, Chet Kelly was in deep in his cherry period, and it was getting more than a little out of hand. Fresh cherries, syrupy canned cherries, and even maraschino cherries were being added to everything Chet concocted. The situation had escalated after Chet’s great aunt from the midwest visited, presenting him with a cookbook she was peddling as a church fundraiser. 

“There’s some great stuff in here!” Chet exclaimed as he perused recipes for jello “salads” and hotdish. Chet’s eyes lit up as he discovered a jello recipe made with cherry jello and cherry cola. “Will you look at this!” he exclaimed. “I never thought of using Cherry Coke in my cooking.” 

Johnny retorted, “I’m not sure what you do could be called cooking, Chet.”

The cherry cola jello salad wasn’t bad. He mixed in cherry pie filling, and served it with a dollop of whipped cream, and sprinkle of chopped walnuts. It was a little too sweet for Roy’s taste, but Cap scarfed it up and complimented Chester B. on what he called a tasty dessert. Johnny, on the other hand, glared at Chet, and pouted as he scraped off the walnuts.

When Chet discovered that he had pleased Cap while simultaneously annoying Johnny, he knew he was onto something. Cherry cola and nuts were his new secret ingredients. Cap had developed a bit of a sweet tooth recently, and cherry cola could replace almost any liquid in a dessert recipe, and maybe even liquids in savory dishes. Nuts could easily be hidden in a dish until an unsuspecting Johnny took a bite. 

As Chet’s mustache twitched slightly, Roy recognized this was the start of something that they would all regret. He made a mental note to ask Joanne to start packing him a sandwich again.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnny slammed the fridge door, causing the pop bottles to sway slightly. There was a faint jingle of glass as Johnny screeched, “Chet!”

Chet sauntered into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, smirking. “You need something Gage?” Chet knew exactly what Johnny needed. That man couldn’t go two hours without a glass of milk. 

“Chet! Where’s the milk? I can’t drink Cherry Coke with a doughnut!”

Chet calmly responded in that patronizing tone that would only further infuriate Johnny. “Gage, you know you shouldn’t be eating a doughnut now. You’ll spoil your appetite, and I have something grrrrrreat planned for dinner. I’ve always wanted to flambé a stew. It will help toast the walnuts.”

Johnny started wagging his finger, and his jaw tightened. “Chet! I’m warning you!”

“Why would you want to eat that doughnut anyway, Gage? You don’t like nuts on things, or..." he said smirking " is that in things?” 

Johnny paused, looked Chet dead in the eye, and stuffed more than half of the peanut encrusted doughnut into his mouth. He would choke it down, rubbery peanuts and all.

Before Chet could get an earful, and bits of partially chewed peanuts and doughnut spit at him, the tones sounded. 

“Squad 51: Woman trapped. 415 West Torrance. 415 West Torrance.”

Johnny threw the other half of the doughnut on the table, took a swig of Roy’s coffee, and sprinted for the squad.

Chet called out after him, “Don’t be gone too long! I’ve made a Cherry Coke Light ‘N Fruity pie for dessert. I put nuts in it just for you!”  



	2. Beef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Johnny are temporarily saved from Chet's cooking when they are called out on a rescue to an unknown location on West Torrance. Will the stresses of the job and everyday life cause a rift between them?

Johnny could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body as he jumped into the squad. It was hard to describe that feeling sometimes: pressure and a sense of urgency, mixed with excitement and nervousness. There were always so many unknowns. He tightened the chinstrap on his helmet, and wrinkled his forehead slightly. A trapped person could mean a lot of different things, and he couldn’t picture that particular block of Torrance. Was there a factory on that block? He really hoped it wasn't an industrial accident. A woman who was “trapped” could mean a hand or arm caught and mangled by heavy machinery. Dealing with a panicking victim in extreme pain was one of the hardest parts of the job. He cinched the chin strap a little tighter. It grounded him, harnessing that nervous energy just a bit. Knowing Roy didn’t like a lot of chatter on the way to a rescue, he kept to himself and tried to think of something else. 

He opened the window. The weather was becoming a little cooler now. A rainstorm had come through the day before, and when it passed the skies turned clear and blue. He loved this time of year. The air just felt cleaner. He took a few slow, deep breaths, and shut his eyes for just a moment, concentrating on his breath and feeling it fill his lungs. He remembered the ranch where he grew up, free from all the smog and city smells. 

The smell of char-grilled burgers wafted through the squad’s window as they passed the neighborhood hamburger stand. Now that was one city smell he didn’t mind! He thought about the ranch and the barbecues they’d often had with extended family. His mouth began to salivate when he remembered his aunt’s homemade pickles. 

“I wonder if Chet will try pickling cherries next?” Johnny suddenly asked. 

"How about we stop for burgers on the way back to the station? I'm in no mood for Chet's flaming cherry stew or whatever he’s planning on torturing us with. "

"Really?" replied Roy in an unusual snippy tone. "How can you think about your stomach right now? Let's just focus on the rescue."

“OK! OK!” Johnny replied defensively. “What’s with you?” 

"Last time we stopped for burgers you conveniently forgot your wallet in your locker. I’m trying to support three other people, you know."

"Boy, you're grumpy!” Johnny quickly retorted. “Your memory must be failing you, because what you seem to have forgotten is that I paid you back last week.” 

Johnny folded his arms across his chest and slouched slightly in his seat, feeling a bit hurt that Roy had snapped at him, insinuating that he was was a mooch and a scatterbrain.

Roy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Johnny could be so sensitive, but he had been a little harsh, and he knew he needed to fix this fast. Now was not the time for a heated conversation. They needed to quickly set this aside and focus on the job at hand. 

"Hey, look . . . “ he said softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. It really has nothing to do with you and I’m sorry I snapped. Let’s just focus on the rescue right now.” He paused, and Johnny straightened up slightly. 

“You know I don't like Chet's cooking either. In fact, I asked Joanne to pack me a peanut butter sandwich since I knew it was Chet’s turn to cook.” 

“Actually,” Roy continued, “Joanne made an extra one for you."

Johnny certainly knew how to hold a grudge. He could have pouted and refused the sandwich just to spite Roy for snapping at him. Instead, he smiled and said, "You’ll have to keep her around a little longer. " 

Roy slowed down as they hit the 400 block of West Torrance, and stopped in front of a nondescript, three-story, brick building. It wasn’t a factory, but what was this place? It was definitely a construction zone. The windows were all boarded up and several humongous dumpsters were overflowing with construction debris. 

“It looks deserted,” said Johnny. “Do you think they gave us the wrong address?”

“Nope.” Roy pointed down the alley, where an older man in dusty coveralls was waving and quickly walking toward the squad.

They jumped out, grabbing their gear, and made their way toward him. 

“This way fellas!” said the dusty man. “I don’t know how she did it, but she’s got herself into quite a pickle.” 

Johnny’s stomach grumbled. He sure could go for one of Aunt Lizzie’s pickles right now.


	3. Hardtack

The sun was beginning to set, and Torrance Street was nearly deserted. It was quiet, except for the faint sounds of music and laughter coming from the bar across the alley. Roy decided to lock up the squad.

The man in the dusty coveralls held out his hand. “I’m Gus,” he said.

“I’m Roy DeSoto, and this here is my partner, John Gage. Did you call us?”

“Sure did,” he replied. “We’ll have to go in the side entrance. It’s just down the alley here.”

Roy and Johnny followed Gus, carefully stepping over small, murky puddles. As the wind picked up, crumpled paper sacks and bits of tattered newspapers blew across the alley like urban tumbleweeds. The smell of stale beer and trash discarded from the neighborhood bar made Johnny crinkle his nose, and he held his breath as they passed the dumpster. Gus pulled out a flashlight as they entered the building. The light danced around, circling mounds of broken tiles, splintered wooden lath, and other construction debris. Although demolition had ended for the day, the dust was still heavy in the air and it immediately began to irritate their eyes.

“What is this place?” asked Johnny.

“It’s the Greater LA County History Museum,” Gus replied. “The building was in really bad shape, so we’re completely gutting it. At this point, I’m not sure we’ll ever get it back together again.”

Gus led them to a stairwell. “We’ll have to take the stairs, he said. The elevator’s out of order until they replace the guts. It’s just one flight down, though.” He gestured at the equipment, asking “Can I help carry anything?”

Roy shook his head. “That’s OK. We’ve got it. So, there’s a woman trapped down there?”

“Yep. She sure is stuck. I feel kinda dumb calling you guys, but she says her head’s bleedin’ some, so I thought I’d better call for help before wasting time tryin’ to get her out myself.”

As they entered the basement, Gus led them around a corner and down a hallway.  “I’ll try to find a work light or something, but most of the main lights don’t work right now. They’re rewiring everything and I got a suspicion someone’s got a wire crossed or somethin’ in the store room.” Gus continued through an open door, and Roy and Johnny followed. “I was just closing up everything for the day when I heard her hollerin’.”

Gus’ flashlight darted around the room, giving Roy and Johnny a tour of the massive store room. The space was filled with shelving, which seemed to be packed to the gills (and beyond) with everything from spinning wheels and pedal cars, to furniture and artwork. A propeller and a canoe hung from the ceiling. “This is incredible!” said Johnny. “How much stuff do you have in here?”

“More than 300,000 artifacts” replied a woman’s voice from somewhere within the shelving.

Roy and Johnny put down the gear, grabbed their flashlights, and began searching in the direction of the voice.

“You won’t be able to see her from here. She’s down there.” said Gus, pointing over a filing cabinet and into the shelving unit.

“I don’t get it,” said Johnny. “How did she get into the middle of this thing?”

“It’s compacting storage,” explained Gus. “You see, the rows of shelves move on tracks, so you only need one open aisle for these twelve rows of shelves. It lets ‘em pack a lot more stuff in here.”

Roy shined his flashlight on the floor of the open aisle, revealing tracks set into the concrete floor. They puzzled over how she could get caught. It must have closed in on her.

“Can you just get me out of here?” asked the voice within the shelving, sounding a little exasperated.

“In a minute, ‘Ma’am.” replied Roy. “First, we need to understand how this happened, and then we can make a plan to get you out. Can you tell us what happened?” 

As the woman began explaining how she had run down to storage at the end of the day to get some artifacts out for a researcher, Roy pulled a crate off a shelf, using it as a step stool, and peered over a filing cabinet and down the small opening between the rows of shelving. He couldn’t see a person, but he noticed an open cabinet door, wedged against a shelf on the opposite side of the aisle.

The electricity had been out to the entire store room when she arrived, including the movable storage unit. There was an alternative way of moving the aisles during a power outage using a socket wrench, so she had moved the aisles over manually. The store room was in quite a chaotic state. Between electrical rewiring and ductwork removal, many filing cabinets and large objects had been moved around, and access to the compacting storage was nearly blocked. She had just been able to squeeze between a couple of filing cabinets to get down the aisle, but there was not enough room to take a ladder.

“I needed to get some stuff out of a top drawer in this cabinet. I had to step up on the bottom shelf to reach it because I didn’t have a ladder. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear the unit closing in on me.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, trying to follow along. She was talking pretty quickly. Occasionally they could hear a slight break in her voice, but she would pause, gather herself and continue. “Did I mention that I left the override key in the unit? Well, apparently I did. They were jackhammering upstairs, so between the noise and the vibrating building, I didn’t notice that the shelving unit had started to close behind me. The electricians must have briefly turned the power back on to test things before they left for the day.” 

Because the woman was standing on the bottom shelf, nothing was at floor level to trigger the safety bar that makes the system stop when something is in the way.  By the time she realized it was closing in on her, shelves on the opposite side of the aisle were pushing against the open cabinet doors. The woman had flinched, fallen off the shelf, and hit her face on one of the metal drawers. “When my feet hit the ground, they also hit the safety bar, so the aisle eventually stopped closing, but now I just can’t get myself out!”  

Johnny grabbed the safety override key out of the unit. They didn’t need it mysteriously turning on again. Roy gnawed on his thumbnail, considering their options. “Where’s the socket wrench now, Ma’am?”

“Don’t even ask,” she replied. “I didn’t want to lay it down in the dark and lose it, so I took it down here with me and set it on a shelf that is now on the other side of the cabinet door.”

It was possible that they would have a proper sized ratchet in the squad, so Johnny ran back to gather the tools. The backup plan was to clear the large artifacts off the tops of the shelves and try to pull her out that way. Gus tracked down a ladder, and began helping Roy remove an odd assortment of artifacts. First there was a butter churn, then a variety of chairs, and a rocking horse. Part of a spinning wheel went crashing to the floor when he picked it up. 

“Please be careful!” exclaimed with woman.

Roy replied with his usual, “Yes Ma’am,” which was standard protocol for a fireman on a rescue.

After moving five more chairs, four anvils, and a large film projector, Johnny returned with some tools. “Just in time,” said Roy facetiously. “I should have saved the anvils for you.”

Roy and Gus had moved enough artifacts to be able to get to the spot directly above the woman. Roy looked down at her, meeting eyes that were wide and scared. His flashlight illuminated streaks of blood on her face, which seemed to be drying. She was dabbing her forehead with a blood soaked handkerchief. Her other hand was raised over her head, holding a shallow cardboard box that she was also balancing on the top of her head. “Hello there,” said Roy. “We’ll have you out in just a few minutes.”

She nodded, and sighed just slightly. She was in quite a jam. The space between the shelves and cabinet doors was tight. Not enough room for him to easily jump down and examine her. “Why don’t you set down that box you’ve got there.”

“I can’t!” She exclaimed. “I don’t want to get blood on the artifacts. Plus, I’m afraid I’ll drop it if I try to move it at this point.”

“Well, how about it just take it from you,” replied Roy softly. “You just hand it to me, and I’ll set it down where it will be safe.” Roy leaned down from the top of the shelving unit, stretching out his arm.

“I think I’ve got it!” Johnny yelled as he found a proper fitting ratchet.

Roy grabbed the tray, gave the woman a reassuring nod, and began crawling back towards Johnny with the tray in hand. As he began descending on the ladder, he handed the tray to Johnny. “What’s this?” asked Johnny.

“Precious artifacts, I assume” said Roy shrugging.

“It’s Hardtack,” said the woman. “Please just set it down carefully.”

“Yes Ma’am,” said Johnny and Roy simultaneously.  Johnny held the tray to his nose and took a whiff. They looked like giant saltines a toddler had constructed out of playdough. They didn’t smell like much of anything, but the thought of food made his stomach growl again. One-hundred-year-old crackers didn’t look so bad. At least they weren't covered in cherries and nuts.

Johnny set down the tray and began cranking the shelving unit. Slowly, the aisle began to open. One of the steel cabinet doors, being released of the pressure from being stressed open too far, popped its screws and slammed to the ground.

A yelp rang out.  “That was my foot!”

 


	4. Super Bagel

The yelp was followed by a loud thud as the heavy steel cabinet door crashed to the ground. Then came a string of curse words, somewhat to the relief of Johnny and Roy. At least she was conscious and coherent enough to curse. With the aisle open and filing cabinets shifted out of the way, Roy and Johnny darted down the aisle to assess what further damage had occurred.

“Are you OK?” asked Roy.

“Not really,” replied the woman, who was now seated on the floor. “The door fell my foot.”

The aisle was too narrow to properly examine her there, so Roy carefully helped her hobble to the end of the aisle and they carried her into the corridor, where Gus had set up a work light. Roy and Johnny immediately went into paramedic mode, checking vitals, and working together as an efficient team, bickering long forgotten. Johnny set up the biophone to connect to Rampart, and removed his favorite green pen from his pocket. Dixie answered the call and quickly alerted Dr. Early, tapping her perfectly manicured fingernails on the glass window of the base station. Dr. Early had just taken his second sip of coffee, but wasn’t too disappointed when he had to set it down. It had been brewed hours ago, and the taste was all acid and slightly burned flavors. Coffee, unlike a fine wine, does not get better with age.

The small cut in the victim’s forehead seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, and there was no visible sign of concussion, although further diagnosis at Rampart would be necessary. The foot was another matter. By the time they removed her socks and sensible navy blue Keds, her right foot was beginning to swell, and she cringed at the slightest pressure. “Looks like a fracture,” said Johnny. Dr. Early ordered them to transport her “as soon as possible,” and Gus was set upstairs to wait for the ambulance while Roy and Johnny continued monitoring vitals and bandaged her forehead.

“I’m Clara, by the way” she said, brushing her long, dark brown hair out of her face.

“I’m Roy DeSoto, and this here is John Gage,” Roy replied as he continued bandaging her head.

Her foot was beginning to really throb, but her adrenaline was subsiding some. As she began to feel more calm she suddenly became aware of the close proximity of the handsome fireman touching her forehead. She could feel herself blushing slightly, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. She attempted to cover by making small talk, and talking just a little too fast. She touched her hair again, and attempted to brush the blood matted tendrils away from her mouth.

Johnny had a keen sense when it came to spotting seduction, but only when it involved Roy. Some people have a quick temper. Johnny was quick to envy, possessive of his friendship while simultaneously yearning to be the object of attraction. Something that often seemed to come so easily to Roy. When Johnny’s eyes turned green, sensibility was quickly abandoned. Johnny jumped into the conversation, answering questions for Roy, and not so subtly mentioned that Roy was married. Roy’s knee jerk reaction was to roll his eyes and keep his mouth shut. He didn’t understand why Johnny was getting his knickers in a bunch anyway. Clara was on the plain side and certainly had no fashion sense. Her red plaid, polyester double knit pants clashed with a loud purple paisley blouse and an ill-fitting, bright green frumpy vest. On second thought, Clara’s clothes certainly weren’t plain.

“Crap!” she said suddenly. “How long do you think they’ll keep me at the hospital?” Roy explained that it was hard to know. A full diagnosis would be made once they reached Rampart. She should just try to relax and not worry about it.

“But what about my researcher? He’s coming first thing tomorrow morning, and my boss is already ticked off at me considering the stink I made about wading through this construction nightmare and bowing to the last minute needs of a rabid Civil War reenactor.”

She went on to explain that she had a temporary office set up about a mile away while the building was under construction. At the beginning of the project, they’d decided to close the collections, and cover the cabinets in plastic. A researcher had called very late in the afternoon, insisting on seeing their collection of Civil War hardtack. When push came to shove, he went to the top and she was ordered to make it work, and accommodate him. Although her boss hadn’t darkened the doors of the museum in weeks, surely there were plenty of workers who could help her move filing cabinets out of the way, find her a work light, and help her cut away the plastic protecting the storage cabinets. Clara was stubborn though, letting her pride get the best of her. She could move a collection of anvils without the help of a man, so she could certainly hurdle rogue filing cabinets and use a flash light. Looking back, she knew this had been stupid and arrogant. She had put her own safety and the artifacts at risk.

Johnny was curious about this hardtack stuff, and he began asking her questions. She suggested he bring the tray over and she would show him another really unusual thing in the box. Although Roy kept insisting that she stay still, she was obviously excited in Johnny’s interest, and she asked him to grab a pair of white cotton gloves from the cabinet inside the store room. She carefully unwrapped an artifact, wrapped in heavy tissue paper, and proceeded to tell them about it. “Guess what this is?” she said with delight. The round, desiccated artifact looked like a misshapen doughnut. “It’s a bagel from the 1860s! Essentially it’s petrified. It came around the horn with a family who packed loads of these things to sustain them on the journey, or so the family story goes. For some reason they kept one as a remembrance, and it was passed down as a treasured family heirloom.”

“That’s incredible,” said Johnny. “Now that’s a real super bagel!” Roy rolled his eyes, partly because he remembered Johnny’s convoluted poker game, and partly because Johnny was really laying it on thick. He doubted that Johnny really thought that misshapen piece of dough was all that incredible, but he now had Clara’s complete attention, so that was pretty incredible in itself.

The ambulance was taking longer than it should to arrive, so they decided to go get the stokes and bring Clara up to the main level where they would meet the ambulance attendants with the gurney. Before they left the basement, Clara asked Johnny, “Hey, could you grab the tray with the hardtack and give it to Gus? Maybe he can call Janet and she can make the trip into the office tomorrow.”

Roy offered to stay with Clara, and Johnny made a few trips back and forth to the basement to grab all the gear and tray of petrified comestibles. As Roy and Clara were loaded into the ambulance, she relayed the instructions to Gus. “The other fireman is grabbing the tray with the hardtack. It’s too late to bring it over to the office. It will be locked up by now, but can you call Janet and she if you can meet up with you first thing tomorrow morning? Tell her I’ll try to call her from the hospital to fill her in later tonight.”

Johnny was on the third step when he remembered he’d forgotten the tray of artifacts. His hands were full, of course, so he thought he’d shift a few things around and carefully set the tray inside the drug box to ensure its safety on the way up the stairs.

He left all the gear in the entryway and went to get the squad. It would save him a few steps back and forth down the alley. When he returned, Gus was busying himself, locking doors and unplugging work lights. As Johnny began loading everything back into the squad, he heard a call on the radio. It was a traffic accident that wasn’t far away, about four blocks. Johnny knew he would be in the best position to respond. His mind focused on a quick response, shifting back into paramedic mode, and forgetting the super bagel and hardtack altogether. The drug box was loaded into the squad, and with Gus out of sight, Johnny hollered into the dusty nothingness that he had to run.

Johnny Gage, the hardtack, and the super bagel rolled onto the next adventure.


	5. Butterscotch Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny responds to a call at his favorite ice cream stand and gets himself into a sticky situation.

Johnny loved the grumble the engine made when it turned over. Although he was happy to stay with the victim all the way to the hospital, he also loved driving the squad, and for a few minutes she was all his.

It didn’t take long to reach the scene of the accident, a neighborhood ice cream and hamburger stand that was well-known to Johnny. The building and parking lot appeared darker than normal. Typically floodlights illuminated anthropomorphic ice cream cones, soda cups, and hotdogs, which appeared to chase each other around the building. In the dim light Johnny saw an unfortunate addition. The tail end of a large, green sedan was protruding from the front of the ice cream stand.

Johnny tried to shoo away the crowd that had formed around the car. The flood lights were damaged by the collision, and the faint glow of the interior lights were not enough to adequately illuminate the car. Johnny grabbed his flashlight, but he couldn’t see the driver from his vantage point. He was even more concerned when he searched the crowd, but didn’t see Cal, the kindly owner of Cal’s Cones. He raced to the side of the building, but the impact of the crash had shifted the frame, and the door was jammed.

The familiar wail of Engine 51’s siren announced the arrival of much needed reinforcements. Responding to a rescue without a partner was tough, and Johnny immediately felt a sense of relief when he saw Captain Stanley. Cap could immediately assess practically any situation, and without hesitation make the tough decisions, while always keeping his men’s safety a top priority. Cap wasn’t just a boss; he was a leader. Cool and calm, he had a talent for putting people at ease, and making each person feel like a valuable member of the team. He respected his men and they respected him. Yes, Johnny and all the guys learned a lot by watching Cap, and each man would eventually incorporate a bit of his leadership style into his own, carrying pieces of Hank Stanley with them throughout their own careers.

Cap immediately began to get the crowd under control, backing them away from the car and building, so Marco could look for gas leaks. He told Chet to grab an axe and crowbar, and assist Johnny with the door. After a little prying and a couple of kicks, the door popped open. Chet ran back to the squad to grab more of the paramedic gear, while Johnny began searching for the victims. Each man had his job, and Cap kept an eye on it all, redirecting each one as tasks were completed.

Once Johnny gained access to the building, he located a tiny elderly woman sitting at the wheel of the car. She was sobbing softly and dabbing her eyes with a delicate, embroidered hanky. The woman, attempting to back out of her parking spot while eating an ice cream sundae, had confused the gas and break pedals. Luckily, her vitals were normal and she seemed completely unharmed except for the large chocolate stain down the front of her dress. She reminded Johnny of his grandmother, dressed formally for what had likely been a very mundane outing. For the older generation, going shopping downtown was something to get dressed up for.

Johnny recruited Chet to sit with the woman while he continued searching for Cal. Chet Kelly could be an annoying prankster, but when they were on a rescue, all the childishness melted away, and as helpful and caring as any other guy from Station 51. He consoled the old woman, kindly telling her not to worry, that mistakes happen, and it would all be okay. Slowly, her sobbing subsided. She fussed with her hair, and repined her hat, happy to have the company of the courteous fireman, whom she declared was “a delightful young man.”

Remarkably, Cal was also unharmed. As the car had started coming through the wall, he had ducked and cowered under the back counter. Johnny had to shift splintered siding, counter remnants, and other debris to get to him, but once freed, Cal was quickly back on his feet.

“Well, Johnny” said Cal. “I think it’s curtains for Cal’s Cones.”

Johnny switched the soft serve machine to the _off_ position, stopping the ribbons of vanilla ice cream that were streaming to the floor. “Don’t say that, Cal!” he replied optimistically. “You can rebuild. I’m sure the old lady has good insurance. You can rebuild and make it even better than it was before.” Johnny stooped down and picked up a few aluminum containers, setting them on the remnants of the counter. The floor was littered with crushed pineapple, strawberries, chocolate syrup, butterscotch, marshmallow fluff, and all the other specialty ice cream toppings.

“I don’t think so, Johnny. I’m no spring chicken, and this is probably a sign. A sign to move onto the next phase of my life. Maybe I’ll take up hang gliding, or something.”

After rechecking Cal and the woman’s vitals, and conferring with Rampart, they were both deemed stable and not necessary to transport. Johnny helped Cal pick up a few more containers, and left him to ponder his future. Johnny pondered his future as well, a future without Cal’s Cones. He began to think about all the things he’d be missing: vanilla soft serve, dipped in a waxy chocolate coating; butterscotch sundaes; hot fudge malts with extra malt powder; charred hamburgers; cherry slush, garnished with a curlicue of creamy soft serve. Johnny briefly considered asking Cal if he could buy a dish of ice cream for old times’ sake. His stomach rumbled again.

Cap seemed to have everything outside under control, and Vince took over questioning the old woman and all the witnesses. Cap gave Johnny permission to “split,” and meet up with Roy at Rampart. _Mmmmm_ , _banana splits!_ thought Johnny,

“Hey, Gage,” said Chet, drawing Johnny out of his ice cream daydream. “Shall I hose down those boots?”

Johnny looked down at his feet. His boots were quite a mess after wading through ice cream and sticky toppings. To make matters worse, when he was helping Cal tidy up the gooey containers, a bowl of chopped peanuts slid off the tilted remains of the counter, coating his boots like a Payday bar. _Yuck! Nuts!_ thought Johnny.

“Nice try, Chet! Knowing you, you’ll also hose down my pants and shirt.”

“Your call,” Chet replied.

Johnny waved, dismissively, and hopped into the squad.

“See ya later, Butterscotch Boots!” Chet called out as he drove away.

 

*************************************************************************************************************************

Roy could hear Johnny before he could see him. He didn’t know it was Johnny at first, but the sound of squishy, sticky boots, echoed down the Rampart hallway.

“What the heck happened to you?” asked Roy.

“Well,” said Johnny, smiling cheekily, “I had to make a stop at Cal’s Cones.”

Roy rolled his eyes, annoyed that Johnny was eating ice cream while he was stuck at Rampart. Johnny could have at least had the decency to wait to stop for ice cream until after he picked him up. Roy liked ice cream too!

“I promise,” he said, putting a hand to his heart, and flashing a smile, “It was all work related. I didn’t even have any ice cream.”

Johnny relayed the story, embellishing things a bit, for dramatic effect. When he was done, he asked, “How’s – um--- the girl?”

“Miss Phillips? Clara? Really Johnny, a girl doesn’t like it when you forget her name,” Roy teased.

“I didn’t forget,” Johnny said defensively.

“Well, I haven’t heard how she’s doing yet,” said Roy. “It’s crazy busy around here. They moved some of the overflow patients to pediatrics. They are also short two nurses today, so Dixie is running around like mad, trying to cover until reinforcements arrive.”

“Shit!” Johnny suddenly exclaimed. A woman sitting with a little girl in the hallway glared at him and held the girl a little tighter.

“Jeez, Johnny, watch it!” said Roy, knowing cursing in front of the public was bad form. “Dixie can handle it.”

“No, not Dixie,” said Johnny. “It’s Clara. I got the call about Cal’s Cones and I totally forgot.”

“Forgot what?” asked Roy.

“The hardtack and the bagel. They’re in the squad!”

“I thought you were supposed to give those to the maintenance guy.”

“Yeah, but I got the call about Cal’s Cones and totally forgot I still had 'em with me. That girl’s a bit of a pistol, Roy. I don’t think she’s gonna like this.”

Johnny’s head began spinning with various options. He considered dumping off the artifacts with Dixie, but she was nowhere to be found and adding another complication to Dixie’s day didn’t seem quite fair. With that option off the table, he trailed Clara from pediatrics to orthopedics, but the orthopedics nurse had no sympathy for Johnny’s predicament. “You’ll have to come back later,” she said. “Miss Phillips is being examined right now and cannot be interrupted.”

Defeated, Johnny returned to the squad, where Roy was waiting, not wanting to get involved with Johnny’s latest predicament.

“Well,” said Johnny, “I guess we just take ‘em back to the station. That mean nurse up in orthopedics was no help. Hopefully she’ll at least give her the message and have her call me.”

“Trying to trick a girl into calling you, huh? She’ll never buy it.”

Johnny was in no mood for teasing, especially about his lack of love life. Tired and hungry, he slouched down in his seat, and sulked all the way back to the station, where Cap took one look at his boots, and ordered him to the latrine to clean up.

“Don’t worry, Butterscotch Boots,” Chet said. “I’ll hold supper for you.”


	6. Queen Anne's Croutons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chet plans a very special dinner for Station 51, complete with light show. Tired, hungry, and likely suffering from an overdose of artificial colors and cherry flavors, Roy and Johnny reflect on their day.

While Johnny tended to the nuts, or rather the nut covered boots, Chet put the finishing touches on the salad. He had concocted a dressing before the Cal’s Cones run. It was a traditional mix of oil and vinegar, made extra special with chopped walnuts and about 5 tablespoons of dill weed, giving it a lively green color. Sometimes it seemed that Chet Kelly cooked by color rather than flavor. Having a well-stocked spice rack wasn’t necessarily a good thing when Chet was cooking.

Johnny tried scraping the nuts and sticky ice cream toppings off his boots and stashed the box of artifacts in his locker. When he returned to the kitchen, Chet was garnishing the salad with what he was calling _Queen Anne’s Croutons_.

“What are those?” asked Cap, with a bit of trepidation in his voice. They certainly weren’t croutons.

Chet proudly explained that they were chocolate covered cherries. Those dime store cherry cordials, full of red dye, corn syrup, and artificial flavoring.

“Chet, Pal,” said Cap. “I think you are pushing your luck here.”

Yes, Chet had been pushing his luck. He knew he could only go so far before Cap would put his foot down, and this meal would likely have to be the grand finale. But Chet Kelly doesn’t give up easily. When he set the table, he placed a bottle of cherry coke at each place setting. Between a pot roast (which had been marinated in cherry coke), the salad garnished with cherry cordials, beverage, and dessert, Station 51 was in for a sugar rush. When Cap began to question yet another cherry flavored product being added to the table, Chet tried his best to really sell it, fabricating a gourmet trend involving echoing flavor and color through each and every dish in a meal.

With the table set, he called the gang to supper, wanting to make a formal presentation of the main dish. He brought the pot roast to the table, and prepared to give the station a real light show using a little bit of fire and bourbon. Cap, however, chose that moment to firmly put his foot down.

“Kelly, there will be no flambéing in this fire station!”

Chet served the pot roast sans flambé, and one by one each fireman made his way to the sink to get a glass of water. Johnny grabbed some saltines and a few stalks of celery from the fridge. He was hungry and crabby and not in the mood for arguing with Chet. The _Shadowleaf_ plates were soon scraped into the garbage and Cap strongly suggested that Chet do this dishes and serve on trash detail. Cap believed that some pranking around the station was good for morale, but Chet sometimes didn’t know when to stop. This joke had been played out, and his men needed fuel in order to do their jobs well. Having a crew of hungry, cranky firemen could be a detriment.  

Roy retreated to his locker for Joanne’s peanut butter sandwiches and sat on the bench reading a novel while he ate. Johnny soon joined him, and he handed him a sandwich. They sat eating in silence for a few minutes, each personally reflecting on the day. These overnight shifts could be tough. Tough on the firefighters and tough on their families. Roy was a little down, knowing he had missed another one of his kid’s recitals. It just wasn’t possible to call in a favor and get a sub every time there was a school activity or recital. He had to save up the favors for the big stuff, and hope the next activity would coincide with his day off. He and Joanne had argued about it that morning. It wasn’t a big fight. Joanne really did understand, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Roy hated leaving these little arguments unresolved, lingering through an overnight shift. He would call home later and hear about the big event, tell them he missed them all, and wish them all a good night.

Johnny was a little down too, longing for a glass of milk, which would have perfectly complimented the peanut butter sandwich. He kept it to himself this time, letting Roy read, and picked more nuts out of his shoelaces. When he grew bored of nut picking, he took the hardtack and bagel out of his locker, examining them carefully, pondering their history. Sure, he had been overly enthusiastic at the museum, trying to impress Clara, but the more he thought about it, these artifacts were rather incredible. He imagined where they had traveled and what they had been through, packed in a soldier’s haversack, or an immigrant family’s trunk. It was rather powerful to be so close to these objects once he knew their stories, and it was incredible that they had survived so long. He suddenly felt the weight of the responsibility for their care.

When Cap called out for Johnny, telling him there was a phone call, he sprinted for the phone in the dorm, hoping it was Clara on the line. He didn’t want the responsibility for keeping these important artifacts any longer than necessary, and he didn’t want Clara to get into trouble with her boss, so he was pleased when he heard her voice. She had been cleared of concussion and was mellowed out on pain medication. Thankfully, it didn’t look like surgery would be necessary, and she had a cast drying on her foot. “They’re keeping me here overnight, though. It looks like I lucked out. I don’t think be able to make it into work to meet with that hardtack wackadoodle tomorrow morning!”

Perhaps it was the effects of the pain medication, but Clara didn’t seem all that mad about the mix up with the artifacts. She would call her co-worker, who had a key to their temporary office, and send her over to pick them up. “You’ll have to come back and see me some time,” she said before she hung up. “When the museum reopens we’re going to have a spectacular sculpture exhibit. I think you’d really like it.” Johnny was simultaneously flattered and a little scared at her invitation, as often happened when a girl seemed to like him. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, not wanting to commit himself.

When he returned to the locker room, Roy was gone. Johnny nearly gasped when he realized the tray of artifacts was also gone. He had set it down on the bench when Cap called him to the phone. He frantically began to check his locker, and then Roy’s locker, thinking perhaps Roy had moved them. Then, he began to panic. Where were they and where was Chet Kelly?


	7. Knowing When to Hold 'Em, and When to Fold 'Em

After finishing his peanut butter sandwich, Roy continued reading, ignoring whatever Johnny was doing with his boots. Johnny sometimes reminded him of a cat, following him from room to room. He didn’t mind the company, as long as he kept quiet while he was reading. Silent grooming was permissible.

The locker room benches didn’t make the most comfortable reading nook, so Roy eventually sought out a better spot. He slowly moved back into the kitchen, continuing to read, and settled on the couch next to Henry. Henry immediately snuggled in next to him. No, Roy could never get any alone time.

He was so engrossed in his novel that he didn’t notice Johnny storm into the room. By the time he did notice, Johnny’s face was about five inches from his own and he was grasping his shoulders as if about to shake him.

“Where are they?” Johnny shouted.

“Where are what?” Roy responded calmly. So calmly that it only made Johnny more aggravated.

“The museum artifacts, Roy! I took the phone call from Clara Phillips in the dorm and when I got back to the locker room, they were gone!”

“Well, I certainly didn’t take them,” Roy responded.

“Roy, how could you? I leave for five minutes and you lose the artifacts?”

Roy wasn’t sure why they were suddenly his responsibility, but it wasn’t worth arguing with Johnny in his heightened state of irritation. “Well, I’m sure they didn’t walk away. Why don’t you just retrace your steps and look again?”

“Roy, you don’t understand,” Johnny said, shaking Roy slightly. “I’ve looked everywhere. Your locker, my locker, EVERYWHERE. Now where the hell is Chet?”

Roy would need to have a talk with Johnny about boundaries and respecting other people’s lockers, but Johnny had a point. Chet was AWOL, and if anyone was going to mess with Johnny, he was the likely culprit.

“He just took out the trash,” said Cap, even though he really didn’t want to get into the middle of the conversation.

“That little shit!” Johnny exclaimed, jumping even more to conclusions, as he raced for the door to the side yard. When he forcefully threw open the door, and stormed out of the station, he nearly knocked over an unsuspecting Chet Kelly.

“Watch it Gage,” said Chet stumbling backwards. “Where’s the fire?”

Johnny stuck his finger in Chet’s face, the muscles in his arm tensing. “It’s gonna be under your ass in just a minute if you don’t tell me where you put the artifacts! The woman from the museum is gonna be here in less than an hour.”

Chet’s expression went quickly from amusement to confusion, and back to amusement again. “What are you talking about, Gage? Like you’d have any artifacts a museum would want.”

They moved back into the kitchen, still arguing. Johnny paused, sighed, and decided to give Chet an ultimatum: “Look, they aren’t my artifacts, they’re the museum’s artifacts. Just tell me where you put them, and if they aren’t broken, I’ll let you live.” Johnny folded his arms, waiting for a response.

Roy rolled his eyes, put down his book, and scooted away Henry, who had snuggled closer and closer until he finally just made himself right at home on Roy’s lap. Roy moved in to help mediate, giving Chet the short version of the story and explaining how Johnny had become Curator of Nineteenth Century Desiccated Bread Products. When he finished the story, Chet just stood there blankly, using his best poker face. His icy blue eyes stared right through Johnny. Not even his moustache twitched.

“Well,” said Roy, “Chet, do you have the super bagel, or don’t you? I think it’s time for you show your hand.”

“Oh, man!” said Chet in a patronizing tone. “I didn’t know those were from the museum. I just thought they were some sort of ugly, cheap-ass crackers you were hording for a midnight snack, Gage.”

“Where are they, Chet?” asked Johnny through gritted teeth.

“Well, you know Cap doesn’t like us keeping food in the locker room or dorm. Remember the mouse incident we had a few years ago? Well, I was collecting all the trash, first in the kitchen, and then I went to Cap’s office. I ran out of room in the trash can, so I took it out back and emptied it. Then I went to the locker room---“

Chet was really milking it, making the story much longer than necessary.

“C Shift really left a lot of trash in there. Hey, Cap! You should talk to C Shift about taking out their own trash.”

Cap was not amused. “Kelly, if you’re so concerned about C Shift, I’d be happy to arrange a permanent transfer. I’m sure Captain Hookrader would love to hear your suggestions.”

The vein in Johnny’s neck was about to pop and Roy was afraid he might grind his teeth down to dust if Chet didn’t get on with the story. Roy gave Chet a look that said _You’ve had your fun, finish this thing now!_

Chet eyed Cap, who had gone back to reading his newspaper and continued, “Well, I was collecting the trash in the locker room and latrine when I spotted your precious box. I knew Cap wouldn’t be very happy if he saw you leaving food in there, so I brought the box out here to the kitchen. It’s here in the cupboard, John. Where food belongs, right Cap?” Cap continued reading, pretending not to listen.

Johnny raced to the cupboard to examine the condition of the artifacts. “If there’s a mark or crack on even one of these, Chet, your dead! You haven’t met the girl from the museum. She’s very particular. She doesn’t even want anyone touching things without gloves on.”

“Sound like the perfect chick for you, John” Chet countered. “We should make you wear gloves around here too. It would protect us from whatever mental malfunction you are suffering from.”

At that point, Johnny didn’t even care about Chet’s childish banter. He was just happy to have located the artifacts before the woman from the museum arrived. They seemed unharmed. Nothing was chipped or broken, and nothing was missing. Relieved, Johnny retreated to the locker room and placed the box back in his locker, away from any further Chet Kelly mischief.

“Well done, Mr. Kelly,” said Roy, shaking his hand. “You kept a real good poker face all through that story. You win.” Chet smiled. That was all he needed to hear. “Now, can you cool it with all the cherry crap?”

Chet nodded. Truthfully, he was out of cherry ideas, but he wouldn’t tell the guys that. He agreed, “But only after dessert. We can’t waste a perfectly good Light 'n Fruity cherry pie. Trust me, Roy, you’re gonna love it. Johnny, not so much. It has walnuts hidden in the crust. But Roy, this pie has your name written all over it. Picture this: graham cracker crust, whipped topping, Jell-O.”

It did sound pretty good. The peanut butter sandwich had helped calm Roy’s grumbling stomach, but he was still pretty hungry. Chet continued, muttering under his breath, “Plus, a little cayenne for color. Trust me, Roy, it’s like eating a cherry cloud.”

Cap tried to stay out of the pranks and bickering as much as possible, unless they become too disruptive, dangerous, or just got completely out of hand. Chet’s cherry phase had entered that danger zone, and it was time to end it. Cap put down his newspaper, walked over to Chet and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kelly, after the pie, NO MORE CHERRIES! I mean it, Pal.”

Chet knew Cap meant it, but as Johnny later handed off the artifacts to the woman from the museum, and his temporary position as Curator of Culinary Curiosities ended, Chet was already cooking up new ideas in his head. He’d let things cool down for a few weeks, but the cookbook he acquired from his aunt was full of other potentially torturous recipes: tomato aspics; tuna fish and olives suspended in lime gelatin; meat, molded into different forms; lutefisk. . . There were so many possibilities!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who kept reading this story, which was probably my first real creative writing attempt in decades. Writing fiction with dialogue is so different from the terse, emotionless descriptions I typically have to write in my day job, so this was a fun diversion. Writing has never come easy to me. It’s hard, REALLY HARD, but I’ve enjoyed this challenge, and would like to keep working at it. At times I've thought about rewriting the whole damn thing, trying to make the story and dialogue stronger and more focused. I’d also like to move on to other things, so I think I’ll let this one go for at least a while. Kudos to all of you that write and keep writing!


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